


The Child of Winchester

by Lonestar1911



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg Sam Winchester, Sam was trying to build a family here, or the author was trying to build a family for him here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonestar1911/pseuds/Lonestar1911
Summary: Every time, it was Dean who tried hard to glue this family together, even after Sam stormed away and never contacted them for four years.It's time for Sam to give it a try as well, building a family or raising up kids. He didn't care if there is another archangel in the picture. With Gabriel or without, he had made his own decision.The only questions remained: how he should get there, and where it would end.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

When Sam decided he would never want to be a “coward”, he was only five years old.

It was a Saturday afternoon. It had to be, because he remembered his brother, Dean, had been fidgety all day; usually only when a Saturday afternoon and their father finally came back home from a hunting trip would leave Dean in such a status.

Normally, Sam was not a big fan of those routines, like hugging their father and telling him how terribly they missed him after he was gone. He would go upstairs of their two-storage garage and sat in front of the window, watching that big black Impala pulling into their driveway, and when Dean’s slightly irritated voice called him to get his ass down, Sam would just ignore his brother completely.

He really missed his mother at those moments, though he knew very little about her. 

Their father practically avoided speaking of her in the house. Dean told him that he loved their mother so much, and that how their mother died could do a thing to him, making him into a completely different man. Sam couldn’t agree because he didn’t know their father before the death of their mother. All he knew was John Winchester was a crappy father who would lock his sons at home, only asking his friends to check on them if something happened. That he missed Dean’s birthday and his birthday, missed Christmas sometimes and Thanksgiving.

That Saturday when their father came back home was a Saturday very next to Christmas and Sam had absolutely no idea if he wanted John to stay or just leave Dean and him alone and never bother coming back.

After a few unattended calls, he heard Dean curse some unholy words in their backyard. He could almost imagine his brother’s green eyes grew mad and was so ready to kick his ass once he discovered where Sam hid. Neither of them loved to face their father alone because being a father, John Winchester just sucked.

Sam didn’t know what exactly happened down there, but he heard the engine dead, watching their father get out of his car, and after he walked into their main house, Sam was sure he heard someone raised his voice (probably John since Dean didn’t dare to raise his voice in front of their father). That was not a very pleasant sound and soon there came another sharp noise, seemingly someone slammed a door so hard that a house was going to fall down. “Did you lose him,” That one was definitely John Winchester. “Where did you lose him?!”

For a minute or two, Sam didn’t quite get what he meant-lose what? Who is him? But then he quickly realized John was referring to Sam himself. He was assuming Dean lost him during his absent time, and now he was just blaming Dean for his own fault. 

If Sam grew bigger and in his later days, he would immediately run down their garage and tell John that he was ok, that there was no need to panic or scold anybody, especially Dean. But at that time, he was not old enough to step up. He was just five who resented greeting his father in the first place, and after hearing that very grown-up slamming the door and practically shouting at his brother for his run-away, Sam couldn’t simply find the courage to go in there. 

Another loud noise came from the house and more cursing words ruffled outside, Sam didn’t know what they were, but he was startled by the harsh and angst in them. Like he was speaking of a disgusting disease or a despicable demon. (If he really hated him so much, why bother trying to find him anyway? Why not just let him die or whatever?) He knew it was his father shouting, but what he didn’t know was how John would calm down or if he would calm down at all. He lifted his knees to his bony chest and braced himself there. He could feel that he was shivering from those words and his own fear, squeezing his eyes shut, praying his father would just forget him and let go. 

Please let John forget him. He mumbled silently, bottom lip trembling, and he could feel his tears running down his cheeks, cold and threatened never stop. 

It was getting darker and darker outside. The only light served Sam and their garage was from the street besides their main house. And it was cold, Sam skipped his breakfast and his lunch as Dean was too distracted to notice, and now he was about to skip his dinner as well. His stomach hurt and his shiver was getting even worse. He almost got a migraine because of the lack of blood sugar, but he was still not ready to go down stairs. For a terrified moment, Sam thought he was gonna die, in the corner of their disregarded garage, without a blanket, without any food or water.

He lost track of time because of his slight coma. Maybe it was already midnight when finally he heard a click down stairs. 

It came all of a sudden that Sam startled at first. He quickly snapped his head up, untangling his legs and arms, using all of his limbs to climb out of that misery corner. He climbed past the dusty boxes, but was trapped by the abandoned lamps which were once in their mother’s bedroom, and at last he scrambled to the exit of stairs. From there he could see a shadow moving towards the stairs, and a few muttered words coming from that little shadow when he (or it) moved. Sam’s heart rates almost reached an impossible level as he stared at that shadow, he felt he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore just by watching that shadow moving. 

Suddenly, there were footsteps coming his way. Sam quietly fumbled back in his little corner, holding a baseball bat tightly in his hand. He wasn’t big enough to swing it, but surely he could use it as a weapon to block any unwelcome creatures. 

He widened his eyes, unblinking as the footsteps continued to approach. Finally, that shadow was on the very last stair of their garage. Then another click-

The dazzling light of the second storage filled in Sam’s sight all of a sudden that he went blind for a couple of seconds. He stilled, not daring to make another movement, until at last, a familiar boy’s voice sounded. “He fell asleep already, c’mon.”

It was Dean.

Dean murmured those words like he already knew what had happened and was not surprised at all. 

But Sam didn’t move. His brother was still a vague figure in his sight that was no better than a spirit. He stared so hard trying to see, but black spot stinging here and there behind his eyeballs, making him almost want to cry again.

“Come Sammy,” Dean raised his voice a little, either thinking Sam got a concussion or tired. “Dude, I am dead serious. If you don’t drop whatever fuck that is in your hand and get your ass down, I am going to leave you here for the night!”

Sam didn’t know what his face looked like, maybe he showed an expression that he won’t leave with Dean? Because after those words, Dean sighed irritatingly and muttered “Whatever.” And from the rustling sound of the fabric he brother wore, Sam realized Dean was really going to leave him here.

Suddenly, it was too much. Too much for a scared five-year-old boy. 

“Dean!” Sam bawled (he wasn’t sure he was capable of doing that before), struggled to get to his feet, running, stumbling towards his brother’s direction. “P-please...I-I am scare, p-please, please don’t leave me here-”

He didn’t know what he stepped on, but he got trapped and lost his balance. He was so sure that he was going to hit the wooden floor until there were two little and skinny arms caught him and dragged him into a tight hug.

Another sigh, followed by Dean’s chuckling.

“What are you? Barbie girl?”

Sam didn’t say a word after that as he tried hard to close his lips and they trembled too terribly to allow him form a single word without choking himself to death. He couldn’t remember how he got down that garage either, but he remembered those tiny boy arms surrounded him tight and guided him all the way back to their main house, that Dean didn’t leave him a single moment. He never knew how Dean found him (Dean could always find him), though he had a vague feeling that Dean never lost his location in the first place. 

His brother kept smirking at him and laughing at his crying, but Sam couldn’t care less as he was now safe and cringed in his brother’s arms. Only when they finally reached the back door of their house, Dean shushed him. “You don’t wanna wake dad, do you? Shuddap Sammy-”

But his words got cut off as now Sam could finally make out Dean’s face and through his tears, Sam saw the redness and fingerprint across his brother’s cheek. 

John slapped him in the face. 

John punished Dean for Sam’s fault and coward.

And that made the five-year-old young Winchester bawl even harder.

* * * 

Later, when Sam was older, he found being brave could mean a lot of things. It was the way Dean showed him how he would look after Sam when their father was not around, protecting Sam from the dark side of the world, from the monsters and shady things-not so much saying they always meant deadly-from their worst nightmares when Dean was still a little boy too.

He also understood then what being raised as a Winchester meant, that loneliness was always a huge part of his childhood; that he, the youngest Winchester in the family, was a burden on his father’s shoulder who would never have time to play with him like other children's’ parents had.

“I wish I could know mom,” Sam muttered that one night, when their dad was nowhere to be seen in the house, and now it’s only he and Dean. He murmured under his breath, with his head hanging low and his eyes fixed on the floor. “It would be nice to know her.”

“We used to have an oak in our backyard,” Dean said, with a fake indifferent face which Sam knew so well that it meant Dean was nowhere near indifferent. “Me and dad, we buried dead bodies down there.” He leaned his upper body slightly towards Sam, as if he was telling a world-class secret. “Dad used to take you there too, Sammy, even mom, but you were too young and scared. So you couldn’t remember.”

Well, that was true. Sam really didn’t remember. 

After their mother died in a fire, their father moved them to another place where he could find some friends and an occasional babysitter. Typically that babysitter had a name of Bobby Singer. But sometimes they just meant nameless people with nameless faces who Sam and Dean would never see again. Sometimes, it made Sam wonder if it was illegitimate for a child like him to claim to the things such as stable, family, acceptance, and home.

Dean never said he wanted more. He said Sam was his little brother and he would look after him even when their father couldn’t. He was fond of telling Sam stories of their family legends or just simply Dean Winchester’s legends. Mainly they were about monsters and how Dean killed them, but even from a child’s perspective, Sam could tell most of the stores were bullshit. There was no way that Dean could take down a Zombie all by himself, but he didn’t correct Dean. The last time when Sam tried to call his brother a bluff, he got a smack in the back of his head. So time after time, he just kept quiet, letting Dean say whatever he wished, and not got involved in his big brother’s self-satisfaction moments. He could tell those moments were really, really BIG moments for a ten-year-old Dean Winchester.

Sam dutifully listened to his brother’s stories about them, their dad and mom. He never wanted to disagree but he knew the truth long time ago. Even before he saw those beaten marks on Dean’s body. There was no point fighting with his brother about this. He knew what their father was like, like he knew how this conversation would always end. Though they were basically stuck with each other, Dean was still trying to be a qualified big brother. For example, he was always the one trying to speak good of their dad, trying to make Sam love the old man and respect him. He knew Sam hated that. He knew Sam would find every opportunity to run away from John, but he still would try so hard to fix their relationship and save the damaged family bonds.

And for this, Sam thought Dean was the bravest man in the world. Even though he still considered the temptation of hiding in the garage and running away from his father, he knew as long as he had this brave person who would protect him and step up for him whenever needed standing right behind him, he was never afraid of anything his father threw at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam had three relationships before he dropped out of college and went family business with his brother. All of them were girls. He guessed there was still that desire in him somewhere that he would start a family with his wife and children in the future. He used to have one of those fantasies that he owned a house by the beach or in the woods (maybe he should scratch the woods since he already knew too damn well what existed in there), proper and healthy foods inside his fridge, kissing good morning and good night with little young kids, and starting a day from stretching his body at his sun warming balcony. He majored in Law, so he would have one of those decent paid jobs in a big city. Every Saturday or Sunday, his friends would come to visit and hang around, sharing whatever news on TV with his family.

When Sam hit 22, his dream partially came true; he had a dorm room 30 minutes away from the slough, and his brother did stop by on a Saturday night. 

Dean smiled demurely at his girlfriend when delivering the news about their dad missing from a hunting trip. His brother waited until they ran down the stairs, before saying, “Are you gonna come with me or not?”

Dean had been the gifted one in their family who turned every question into a simple and clear order (just like their dad). Everything I asked was already planned for you, so why don’t you just shut your mouth and follow along, hm?

“Not,” As a college student, Sam looked far too tender to say no right in front of his brother’s face. No matter how old they are-as Dean put it-Dean could still kick his ass. But in addition to his dislike of John Winchester, Sam owned a normal life in Stanford. He had a girlfriend and a promising life. Maybe not perfect, but it was still sane. He had a future outside hunting life. And he was not going to end it just because his brother said so.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t hunt anymore, Dean.” Putting on a gift shop hoodie over the light blue tee he wore, Sam looked like an overgrown Teddy Bear rather than a pre-law student. “I was done-done for hunting. For good, dude.”

“You were done.” Dean repeated after him like this was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard. 

“Look. This is the normal life-”

“You look ridiculous.”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it wordlessly. If there was a man beyond persuasion, that man would be one of the Winchesters. Sam had never met someone who was as stubborn as his family-each had his own story and his own theory about life, no one could persuade another and vice versa. Just like four years ago, when Sam stormed out of their house in Kansas, John didn’t even bother stopping him, only told him to never go back. For a moment, he thought Dean was going to say something. But no, his brother just stood there, watching them fight in silence, the blank expression wore on his face feeling like he was done saving this shaking and crumbling family as well.

Sometimes, Sam wished Dean had had the heart to do something, or at least say some harsh words to him or his dad, because eyeing Dean was done, it hurt. It broke Sam’s heart in the most terrible way. It seemed like the only one in their family who cling on that family bond so tight finally gave up.

And for this, Sam decided he was done, not because of his dad, but because of Dean. There was nothing between him and this fake family any longer anymore. Sam stayed there all those years only because of his brother. And after four years’ silence treatment, Sam was more sure than anything that he made the right decision. They didn’t even speak for four years after that fight. What kind of family was that? His stomach has still twitched at the thought of his four years of life away from Kansas, but he was done. He knew he was. He should.

If Dean realized what Sam was thinking, he didn’t show it. Dean gave him a long last look before turning around and descending towards the remaining stairs without even bothering looking back to make sure Sam caught up as he already knew that kid too damn well.

Sam sighed, irritatingly followed his brother, and when they reached the exit of the building, he stood there, watching Dean open Impala’s trunk distantly. So, it seemed like their old gave Dean what he wanted the most at last-the car. Dean dreamt about that Impala since he was four. 

Still, he won’t say that he was witnessing a father-son making up relationship there because he knew better.

Dean didn’t cast him a glance either, but busy himself within weapons there. “Normal people have normal lives. What do you have, Sammy? Fantasies of normal life.”

Sam shoved his hands in the pant’s pockets and looked over Dean’s shoulder in a quick glance. “When I was nine, I told dad I was afraid of the things in my closet, and he gave me a .45.” That was not a memory he liked to share, but he said it anyway, trying to make sense to his brother.

“Yeah?”

“I was nine, Dean!” Sam outstretched his arms in frustration. “He was supposed to be a good dad, at least, telling me not to be afraid of dark or something-”

“Okay that’s cute,” Dean interrupted him, snickering at him indolently. Something behind his tone told Sam that Dean was thinking anything but cute. Dean locked the trunk with one tough push and then leaned against the back door holding one shotgun. “I know you and dad don’t play along and I am not in a particular mood getting in your way-just come with me for this one, okay? After that you can hide back to your normal apple pie life.” Dean air quoted before opening his driver’s seat door and getting one leg inside the car. “Back to your ‘normal civilians’.”

He tossed another pistol at Sam’s direction. Sam grabbed it in one smooth movement without a blink. It felt like this whole thing was running in his blood, like if he wasn’t careful, his body would betray him and react before he could think.

Sam went totally speechless, paused, and looked at his brother. “You can’t just break in in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you, Dean. That’s not how it works.”

“Then how does it work? I tell you another bedtime story and pat you back to sleep, Sammy, another story about that oak tree in our backyard? Don’t you think you are too old for that?” Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly and when opening again, he darted his gaze towards another side of the car, like he was trying to avoid looking at Sam. Sam looked at him sadly. “It’s dad we are talking about.” Dean said, in a tone that Sam could barely hear. “He is the only family we have.” 

For a second or two, Sam wished he had agreed to his brother already so that he didn’t have to hear what Dean said there. The loneliness behind his voice made him ache for that man. 

Life wasn’t beautiful and bounty for Sam, and he had no clue what it’s even like for Dean. It must not have been easy to say the least.

Sam sucked in the cold of California in a long deep breath while he tugged the pistol in his back pocket. He pulled open the shotgun seat and stepped in. “One last time,” he said. “After we find dad, I’ll come back.”

“Wouldn’t ask for more.,” A glint of triumph lit in Dean’s gaze, and he added with a smirk, palms gently hitting the wheel. “And, um, hey, don’t mess my cassette tapes, bitch.”

Shot his brother one last angry glare, Sam’s mouth was hanging open as unbelievable. The heat never touched his eyes though.

“You jerk.” Finally, he muffled out those two words, and turned his head looking outside of the window before his brother could catch him smiling.

* * * 

It was never easy getting back to where he left. Sam spent two hours sitting in the car trying to figure out who their father had encountered. EMF always seemed a good idea to deal with ghosts, but without a clue what they were looking for, it didn’t help much. They spent another twenty minutes grabbing something for the gas station to eat. It was already dawn time. Feeble white colored around the horizon in front of their car. Sam assumed he must have fallen asleep at some point near the valley, but he couldn’t remember. When they finally approached Jericho, Sam offered to change. Dean didn’t let him.

Sam had been in California for more than three years, but he didn’t get many opportunities to explore around and honestly he was fine with that. His childhood was nothing if not traveling all over the country. He had the confidence to say that he was more local than any of the California local forks. He knew almost all of their lores and curses, good or bad. He could easily tell how many serious killer cases in Nevada County without breaking into their police database. Dean used to call him weirdo because of that, saying Sam had an obsession over creepy crimes. Sam thought his brother just got jealous.

Six thirty, and it was still mostly dark outside. Sam couldn’t remember when was the last time he sat and quietly watched a sunrise behind a window glass. Dean was silent while focusing on the road. He hummed under his breath and Sam slowly recognized it was one of the classic rocks their dad used to play. “Music was therapy,” John once said. “It was the language spoken by all beings, a bond connected us together.”

“I know it’s not true, Dean,” Sam said as they pulled in towards the bridge of the crime scene. Even from a distance, they could see the city police cars were piling up and blocking the street. 

Dean didn’t stop but raised an eyebrow.

“The oak tree,” Sam continued. “Dad never took me to any places, and we never had an oak tree in our backyard.”

“Told you you were too young to remember.”

Sam frowned internally. “Why are you trying so hard to fix me and dad?”

Why did you give up four years ago? That was what he didn’t ask aloud. 

“It’s not like there was anything worth saving between us.”

He decided he hated that man a long time ago while in return John Winchester indeed hated him. Sam remembered there was one time that John came back home after a hunting trip. He ran towards the man and hoped he could get a hug. But instead, his father ignored him. His father avoided him, walking past by him without glancing a look but saying he smelled like fire and ashes, exactly the same smell of the night when their mother died.

And it was Dean who shoved him back in his bedroom. He didn’t cry that night or ask because Dean always said he cried too much, but he really wanted to. He knew he couldn’t make a sound but he was scared that his tears would never stop and he would die of dehydration. He didn’t remember much for the rest of the night, but he did remember as he woke up the next morning, John was gone and the whole house smelled like a liquor store. Dean curled up on the carpet of the floor, drooling in his sleep, one leg awkwardly hanging on the edge of the bed like he was trying to climb on Sam’s bed or got kicked off the bed by Sam during the night.

Dean was always the one who tried hard to fix whatever mess their father left. Sometimes, Sam thought it was because Dean was their father’s first born. It must be written somewhere in the Bible that the first born was requested to take responsibility for the father’s actions. Sometimes, he thought otherwise. Maybe it was just Dean. It was Dean’s born nature.

They had breakfast later that morning. 

Sam sat quietly in the kitchen. He could barely open his eyes since they were too swollen because of all the tears last night. Dean didn’t laugh or snicker. Instead, he told Sam a story as they had no other entertainments. And that was the very beginning of the story about that oak tree in the backyard of their house.

Sadly, that was not the only time John showed his hatred against his younger child. Sam always thought it may be because he reminded him of his mother’s death, or worse, John just blamed Mary’s death on him.


End file.
